Birth of Wyrsa
by AutumnDawn21
Summary: Wyrsa had to come from somewhere. It was once revealed that they were the result of some Adept's creation-gone-wrong, and they had turned on their creator. Have you ever wondered... what was their story?


The War had been going on for years. At this point only a few were left to fight the Dark Mage Ma'ar, and it was clearly a down hill battle. Wyrn Thearil, one of the only surviving Arch Mages, was certain it would come to an end in a matter of years.

When that happened, she supposed she would be killed. Until then she would weather the storm in her sanctuary.

Many would be scandalized that such a powerful mage was in hiding, when she should be joining the war against Ma'ar, but the truth was she'd be more of a hindrance than a help. The Mage of Silence, Urtho was a perfectly competent man, fully in charge of his small army, and she had no desire to usurp his position. Her powers were specialized anyway, more suited for creation than destruction, and she had no followers but for a single mute, mentally deficient servant.

Since first coming into her powers so many years ago, Wyrn had wanted to create a being above all others. Compared to the Mage of Silence's magnificent gryphons, her own creations were more akin to children's crayon art than the masterpiece she had envisioned.

Now, at fifty-two and still aging, she was almost ready to give up her life-long dream. Then she found a strange book… a 'King Arthur' and knights were mentioned in abundance, and monsters abounded the mythical land. But one such monster stood out above all others. It was called the Questing Beast, an animal with a snake's head, the body of a leopard, the back legs of a lion, and the hooves of a deer.

A half-formed idea rose to her mind and she instantly set the book down and went to her study.

"the strongeste beste that ever he saw or herde of." Was how Arthur described the creature. Wyrn wanted to make it the smartest as well.

Three years later, just after Urtho took command of the Resistance, Wyrn's efforts came to fruition.

Combing four different animals would impair the creature's intelligence, so she was forced to remove the deer hooves, but her design seemed the better for it. Calling upon the powers at her disposal, she began her spell.

It seemed like days before the trial was complete, and it could very well have been weeks. Time was relative when entranced.

But after so many experiments, so many failures, so many rituals, her work was complete.

Standing before her, proud and tall, stood eight vaguely canine creatures, their coats were not of fur, but of sleek, dark scales.

She had been forced to alter the light, fragile feline frame for something bulkier, but by giving them the form of the slender, speedy greyhound, they had still retained their elegant figures.

The serpent head was a viper's, and so their long insicors were venemous and deadly, while their hypnotising speed was nothing to laught about.

Wyrn laughed when she saw them, a deep, belly-laugh of relief and joy.

But when her silent, stupid maid came in, she stopped laughing. The pack- for it was a pack- lunged, ripping, tearing, biting, eating. The woman screamed wordlessly, reaching to her mistress in a silent plea for help, before falling limp, the poison already working its way through her system.

The… _monsters _began to growl, stalking viciously toward the stunned mage, and Wyrn finally realized the flaw in her design.

She had focused so much on _perfection_, on _beauty_, on deadliness, she had forgotten to make her creatures capable of human emotion. Humanity is not in appearance, nor is it in design. It can not be injected, or added as an after thought. Humanity, emotions, _intelligence_, the ability to think, all of them were flaws. Humans are not perfect, and she had refused to allow her creations to be anything but paradisaical.

They were supposed to be her children, her babies, the epitome of her magecraft, the pinnacle of her success. They were supposed to be intelligent and deadly, the tools that may allow her to be of some use in Urtho's ongoing war. She allowed herself to believe she could make a difference, forced her dreams on her children, and it had ruined both of them.

Her children were little more than monsters, and she was about to be murdered by what she herself had created.

As they lept for her throat, she could not find it within herself to raise a barrier. She was of no use to the world, and she was old. She would die withing the next decade or so, by disease or Ma'ar's cruelty.

She would rather be killed by the products of her own ambition than by the hand of a malevolent spirit in human form.

And, no matter how monstrous, they were still her babies, and there was no way a mother could strike her offspring down.

Her creations roamed the land, christened by residents as Wyr'sa, Children of Wyrn. In time it was simplified to wyrsa, monsters known for their uncontrollable nature. When, years later the War ended and the Mage Storms began, part of Wyrn's dream was achieved. Her children were intelligent… though no less viscous.

Throughout the centuries, others earned fame and gold for hunting her children, but somehow the wyrsa continued to spread. Wyrn would have cried if she witnessed their actions, thought from pride or sorrow we may never know.

* * *

As far as I know I'm the first to do something like this, and I'm rather proud of myself. Critiscism appreciated.


End file.
